"
"Good logic, comrade, but I must hurry just the same. Which is my best
way to find General Pleasanton?"
"Southwest. But I'm bound to tell you a few things first."
"All right. What are they?"
"You and I must be kinsfolk."
"How do you make that out?"
"Because my name is William Haskell, and I belong to the Fifth
Pennsylvania, the same regiment that you do."
"Is that so? It's strange that we haven't met before. But funny things
happen in war."
"So they do. Awfully funny. Now my brother's name is John Haskell,
and you happen to be carrying his canteen, but you've changed looks a lot
in the last few days, Brother John."
Haskell's voice had been growing more menacing, and Harry, with native
quickness, was ready to act. When he saw the man's pistol flash from his
belt he went over the side of his horse and the bullet whistled where
his body had been. His own rifle cracked in reply, but Haskell's horse,
not he, took the bullet, and, screaming with pain and fright, ran into
the woods as the rider slipped from his back.
Harry, realizing that his peril was imminent and deadly, fired one of his
pistols at the second man, who fell from his horse, too badly wounded in
the shoulder to take any further part in the fight.
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